


Learned it From My Father and My Father Never Lied

by Prodigal_Sunlight



Series: Two Gay Dads [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Also this one is, Alternate Universe - Human, And Patton would be leaving the suburban dream if he'd slept in the past five years, Deceit is a lawyer, Deceit is headcannoned as Darkside dad!, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, I mean he's still kinda an asshole sometimes but he's had a long day and he's not evil, In which Deceit is tired of everyones shit, M/M, Other, PTA dad rival romance :eyes:, Parent Deceit Sanders, Patton and Deceit are on the PTA, Patton is a child therapist, Patton is the FamILY dad!, Pre-Relationship, Remus treats elementary school like grand theft auto, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Sympathetic Remus Sanders, This is the only natural reaction shghsjfgsajgs, because he's like six of course hes sympathetic in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_Sunlight/pseuds/Prodigal_Sunlight
Summary: PTA Dads Moceit AUPatton is excited to meet the new Dad on the PTA. It doesn't go to plan.





	Learned it From My Father and My Father Never Lied

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of blood, picking at scabs, and crayon drawings of mildly gorey content (mentioned but not described). All because of Remus and yet he doesn't even show up jshvjdhsfjsghfs
> 
> Title is from "I Earn My Life" by Lemon Demon

Patton M. Sanders was the sort of person who could catch tears from a mile away, and before you had time to so much as sniffle, you’d have a blanket around your shoulders and a warm gentle hug. It didn’t matter if you were decade-old friends or an utter stranger. He was so incredibly full of love and light, of course it overflowed. But of all the things, the places, and most importantly, the people that he loved, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a fewextra-special favorites.

And of course, his favorites were his family.

He finished dusting off the trophy shelf in the living room, stepping back to admire it. He’d let the boys arrange them, and even the way they placed things were just so universally them, it made Patton smile ear to ear.

Logan had organized his side of the trophy shelf carefully. Each of the awards was meticulously categorized, first by subject—spelling bees in one corner, mathletes in front and to the left, science fair a bit higher up—and then they were arranged by year, and lastly, ordered by award type, each trophy, plaque, and ribbon categorized with loving attention.

Roman’s side of the shelf was arranged more artistically, of course. Tall theatre trophies in the back framed the ribbons from various recitals and writing competitions. On the left was a vase with the dried roses from his most recent concert. In the center was a small empty space that he vowed would go to a dancing trophy, as soon as he overcame his two left feet.

And between the two halves of the shelf was a clumsy, lopsided clay mug with no handle, and the words, “Wurld’s Best Dad” scribbled in black sharpie. Roman had made it for him at age five. The same night the gift had been given, Logan snuck out of his room and had used a red marker to correct the spelling. When he’d been caught, he’d murmured something about how facts should be presented with accurate spelling to maintain credibility. It was Patton’s only trophy in his entire life and he was sure he never needed another one ever.

Of course, it wasn’t the trophies themselves that mattered (except the Wurld’s Best Dad mug, that one mattered a lot) but the fact that his sons were so passionate, so eager to share their talents with the world.

And as much as Patton loved all kids, he couldn’t help being peak proud papa when other people acknowledged that his boys were basically the best.

Patton glanced around the living room, deciding he was satisfied enough with his cleaning. Not sparkling clean, but if he didn’t wrap up soon, he’d be late for the day’s PTA meeting. He always asked for work off on PTA days—he couldn’t help it. It was his favorite thing in the world.

He walked into the kitchen, humming as he grabbed the keys to his SUV and started putting plastic wrap on the batch of Patton-patented Cheery Choco-Chip Cookies he’d baked last night. The ladies at the PTA adored his baking—well, except Linda, but everyone agreed she was awful and only tolerated her because she was rich and the school needed money. Most weeks he liked to experiment with different confectionaries, letting himself try new recipes to prepare for the annual bake-sale. But his cookies were a classic, and he had been running a bit late with work, so he’d skipped the experiments this time around.

Plus, it couldn’t hurt to play it safe. A new family had moved into the school district, and Margie said Cathleen heard that Dot was told the family’s single dad was joining the parent-teacher association.

Patton wanted to make a good impression. He didn’t have a lot of dad friends (most of the other dads he talked to were muscular and intimidating and asked him his opinion on “the game,” and he was fairly sure they didn’t mean tag) and as much as he adored the PTA ladies, it would be nice to have another single dad to bond with, maybe even get some advice.

Roman and Logan were successful, but god, they were a handful, or two, maybe even three. (Just last week Roman had snuck off at midnight to “wrestle Bigfoot,” and Logan had snuck out with him, claiming it was so he could examine the behavior of the cicadas at night and certainly not because he believed in Bigfoot. They hadn’t found the ‘squatch, but they had found a particularly mean skunk.) Simply put, Patton wished he knew someone who could relate.

And so, yeah, he was hoping to bribe the new dad to be his friend through cookies. He really needed this.

The drive to the school was short, and yet, there still somehow managed to be trouble. Patton drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing between the traffic light and the black mini cooper in front of him. It was hard to actually see the light at this angle, but it had to be green by now, right? They’d been at the stop for what felt like forever. What if he arrived at the school late? What if Linda was a bitch and scared off the new dad before he even got there?

He tapped the horn lightly, trying his best to make it a short and friendly reminder. He didn’t want to sound like one of those impatient road-rage drivers, but he also really, really didn’t want to be late.

Thankfully, the car started to go in front of them, and Patton managed to relax a bit. And then the driver in front of him slammed the breaks.

Patton’s breath caught in his throat as he hit the brake pedal, barely managing to stop the cookies from slipping off the passenger seat. He frowned, craning his neck for any sign of what had caused the cooper to stop. But as it started driving again, it dawned on him. They’d only stopped to be rude to him for honking. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended at the mean-spirited and dangerous trick or to feel guilty about using his car horn in the first place.

He was so caught up in his distress he didn’t see the cooper pull into the school parking lot or the tall man that stepped out of it.

Patton leaned back in his driver seat as he threw the car into park and pulled out the driving keys, sighing as he closed his eyes. Deep breaths, and it would all be better. This had just been a little hiccup! He just needed to put on his best smile, and head on in. He’d get to talk to the ladies about the theme for this year’s spelling bee and make friends with the new dad and it would be great and fun and perfect.

Once he felt calm enough to put on a cheery face, he grabbed the cookies and stepped out of the car, squaring his shoulders. Everything was going to be fine. The school was relatively quiet, except for the sound of excited playful shouting from the gym and the muffled lecturing of teachers through shut classroom doors.

Patton stopped for a few seconds to admire the goofy posters on the wall about cleaning up after yourself and various school rules. He’d come up with the puns himself, and Logan had helped him find all sorts of neat fonts and clipart. He had a few extra posters saved to put in his scrapbook.

Feeling considerably better about himself, he opened the door to the small room where the PTA had their weekly meetings.

It felt like walking into a dimly lit renaissance painting. The PTA women were quiet and unusually soft-spoken, their cheeks flushed varying shades of red and pink, each holding their glasses of punch, standing crowded about the center of the room. Looming above them, the centerpiece of this display, was a tall man that Patton could only presume was the new dad.

The new dad was handsome, strikingly so, and yet Patton’s first thought was that he looked just like a dastardly villain from Roman’s cartoons. He was tall and thin—the word “willowy” came to mind, maybe because his subtle casual movements seemed so smooth and graceful. His eyes were mismatched, one a dark shade of brown, nearly black in hue, the other a pale color that seemed almost golden. Most strikingly, though, was the burn scar on the left of his face, marking and pocking the skin from beneath his dark ebony hair down to his sharp jawline.

He was even dressed in all black, save for a few yellow accents, holding a bowler hat in his hands as he spoke to the PTA ladies.

“Oh thank you ever so much, Linda,” he said in a deep silky voice, clasping her hand between his own gloved hands. “My mood for the day is so _entirely_ dependent on you liking the brownies. Why, I’d be distraught if you didn’t.” The ladies continued to fuss over him like a group of excitable hens, and while Patton normally liked to join in on the friendly mothering of newbies, something about the overly sweet voice set him on edge.

He tried to relax, waiting for a break in the conversation so he could introduce himself. “You must be the new guy in town!” Patton finally blurted out, reaching through the crowd to shake the new dad’s hand. “Patton Morales Sanders, my kids are Roman and Logan. It’s so nice to meet you!”

The man smiled, but it was a taught polite smile, shaking his hand disinterestedly. “Ah, and it _is_ so important you mention your middle name. Wonderful to meet you, really. Deceit Ethos. No middle name.”

Patton faltered for a second, both at the slight jab and at the odd name. Was he being teased? He… wasn’t entirely sure. He smiled a little harder, trying his best to be friendly for the new guy. “Well, it’s so good to meet you! We have the best school in the whole darn district. We’re in a _class_ unto ourself. Your kids will love it here, and you will too! I’ll try my best not to _lesson_ your enthusiasm.”

Deceit smiled—then again, it could have just as easily been an irritated smirk. “Well, Mr. Sanders, aren’t you on a bit of an _honor roll_? Here, have a gourmet brownie. I make them myself,” he said, offering a plate.

Far be Patton from one to turn down free pastries from a punning pal, and he still really was hoping this could turn into a friendship. He took one of the brownies, pausing for a second. They looked familiar. It couldn’t be that… He bit into the brownie, tasting the dark rich chocolate, the thin ripples of fudge, the ooey-gooey chocolate chips. No, it definitely was.

These were no homemade brownies.

These were the brownies sold at the tiny grocery store just past Patton’s neighborhood.

Patton bit back an offended gasp at the realization, forcing himself to chew and swallow the oh-so-yummy brownie without accosting Deceit for disrespecting the unspoken honor code of the PTA. He glanced around the room, his stomach dropping as he realized that none of the ladies had noticed the deception.

_‘Keep your cool, Patton,’_ he told himself, sitting down in his seat at the table as he did his best to keep smiling. Maybe Deceit just wasn’t much of a baker, but still wanted to make a good first impression. He had to think the best, most positively he could until the other dad proved he didn’t deserve it.

Deceit took the seat next to Patton, setting a briefcase on the table. Patton eyed it warily, wondering what dark secrets lay inside. “So, did you like my brownies?” Deceit said innocently, smiling.

Patton started passing around his plate of cookies, smiling tensely. “Oh, yeah. Super delicious. I love baking so I know a good brownie. Do you bake a lot?”

“Oh certainly,” Deceit said, and Patton was starting to suspect that Deceit was a nickname, not his given name. “I am rather looking forward to this. Do pardon me a moment, I brought some notes.”

Patton pretended not to watch as the other man unlatched his briefcase, pulling out several papers and shuffling through them. He froze up, unable to hide his shock at what he saw when a noise of distress escaped his throat. Amidst all of the carefully typed papers was one covered in black crayon drawings of headless animals, knights stabbing each other, what looked to be some sort of many-headed snake monster—but that was only the crayon. There was layer after layer of tape, green glitter glue, a Halloween themed bandaid, and what Patton was desperately hoping was not blood.

Noticing his distress, Deceit glanced at Patton quizzically before noticing the paper as well. He slipped into an affectionate smile, admiring the macabre illustration. “Ah, Remus hid a present in my briefcase again. What a brat,” he said, his voice surprisingly warm and fond.

“Remus?” Patton said, trying to relax and make conversation. “Is that your son?” And also is that blood on his drawing and why is it so creepy and gross?

Even if he hadn’t been working as long as Dr. Picani, Patton had been a child therapist long enough to know darker drawings weren’t necessarily a bad thing. It could even be a healthy way of coping with bad emotions. But this looked more like something out of a horror movie about demon-possessed kids, and also _why was there blood._

“No, my pet goose,” Deceit said, rolling his eyes. “He’s my older boy. And clearly he stopped picking at his scabs like I told him,” He muttered, glancing at a smear of blood on the paper. “This is certainly one of his more ambitious works. He’s quite the little artist you know.”

Well, picking at scabs wasn’t super great, but it was probably the tamest explanation for the blood Patton could have hoped for, so he was relieved for that, at least. He bit his lip, deciding it would be better not to point out that his son was also an artist, but didn’t draw quite so many disemboweled stickmen. “Your older boy?” He prompted.

Deceit put a gloved hand to his ear. “What’s that? Oh is there an echo? My this room is echoey,” he said in a voice that was blatantly mocking.

Patton frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Alright, we got ourselves a real smart alec here huh,” he said.

“My younger boy is Virgil,” Deceit continued as if Patton hadn’t said anything. “Though I doubt you’d like him much. And my joining the PTA has nothing to do with him, and his last school _certainly_ allowed him use of his fidget toys. I should hope the policy is the same here, he gets distressed otherwise. I’m sure you don’t have a school counselor? Our last school was _so_ attentive to his anxiety issues.”

Patton bit his lip. “We do allow fidget toys that aren’t disruptive or loud, and we have a really good counselor. Dot, over there,” he added, pointing her out. “She’s great with helping kids, when Roman was worried about the school play she talked him through it.”

Deceit sighed, leaning against his gloved hand with a dissatisfied sneer. “Oh, yes, because stage fright and a debilitating disorder are exactly the same thing, thank you so much Patton, I feel so much better.”

Patton folded his arms and tapped his foot frustratedly against the floor. “She’s trained in dealing with anxiety disorders too, I was just giving an example. Dot is great and nice and helpful and her husband teaches theatre.”

“Thank you for that last detail,” Deceit said, finally setting aside the papers he needed and putting the rest—including the unsettling drawing—back into the briefcase. “It was so completely relevant.”

Patton huffed, his patience finally shot. He tried and tried to be friendly, but either Deceit was just as awful as Linda or he’d already made up his mind to hate Patton for no apparent reason. “I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t know why you’re being so sassy with me. Is it the cookies? If you don’t like chocolate chip you could have said so, you don’t have to be such a rude mister!”

Deceit sneered, about to respond with what was no doubt another hurtful and biting remark, when the door opened, and the school receptionist Janet poked her head in. The elderly lady adjusted her glasses nervously. “Um… to the owner of the black mini cooper, a small student with a streak in his hair broke through the window to get a granola bar in the backseat,” she said.

With a dramatic sigh, Deceit pushed his seat back from the table and stood up. “You lovely ladies can start without me, I’m certain I’ll be able to hop into things with no prior knowledge.” He turned to Janet, massaging his temples. “Anyway, that would be mine.”

Janet paused, tapping a finger nervously to her lip. “Um, the car or the student?”

Deceit put his bowler hat on his head, checking his reflection in the window and adjusting the hat before leaving the room. “Both.”

And that was how Patton, at last, met his match.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, laying in a pile of half-finished fics, in the middle of a caffeine crash and ready to fight god: what if,,, moceit enemies to lovers pta au
> 
> Anyway here's this, they're both single gay dads with a pun penchant and there's only minimal shippy stuff in this part (mostly patton acknowledging dee as drop dead gorgeous) but with enemies to lovers you gotta start somewhere
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to the series! More chapters will be coming out through the series :)


End file.
